"Beautiful! That's perfect!" The photographer's voice fades into background noise as we continue the shoot, with Grace facing me now, fingers curling into my shirt. When she gazes up at me, there's something unguarded in those hazel eyes that makes my chest tighten. Her body language has transformed completely—no more hunched shoulders or fidgeting hands. Instead, she leans into my touch as if this closeness comes naturally to both of us.
The photographer shouts directions, and we comply easily. When we’re finished, she goes on and on about how perfect the pictures will be, but I’m still thinking about the feeling of Grace’s body against mine.
Afterwards, I walk her back to the car, where Wallace is waiting. I open the door, helping her into the back seat before sliding in on the opposite side. We drive home in silence, but I watch as she twists her fingers together, every so often pausing to assess the ring. She carries that hand differently, as if she’s afraid the ring might fall off or something.
I reach over, wrapping my hands around hers. She doesn’t jolt like she did earlier in the park. This time, her body relaxes at my touch, and I take some joy in the fact that I comfort her.
“You did great,” I tell her, watching to see how she reacts to the praise. Back at the club, after she spilled my drink, and I calmed her down, she practically melted when I called her a good girl. I shouldn’t be exploring this side of her. I should absolutely let there be boundaries between us.
But then again, we want this to look real, right?
And what looks more real than a wife who’s comforted by her husband’s touch? How he speaks to her? The simple things he says that put her at ease? This is just practice to make sure we can pull this off.
It’s surely not because Iwantto touch her.
Not because I relish the feeling of her skin against mine. The way her doe eyes look up at me.
She blushes, turning her face away from me. "So what now?" she asks.
"We'll run an engagement announcement in the papers next week."
Tugging her plush pink lip between her teeth, she looks down, avoiding eye contact. "Next week?"
"Is that a problem, Miss Morgan?"
She swipes a hand through her caramel locks and sucks in a long breath. "No, it's just…soon."
"That's the point. We need to move fast."
"Why?"
Because my sister's wedding is this summer, and I need to beat her to the altar.
I don't tell her that, though.
"Because that's the arrangement."
She pauses, knowing she signed an agreement and that this is part of it. Then she nods, more for herself than to me, I think.
"Okay," she breathes out. The car pulls in front of the Sanctum building, and Wallace walks around to open her door. When I don’t get out, she looks at me. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I have a bit more work to do. I’ll be home late,” I tell her, and I swear I see a twinge of disappointment on her face. “Lisette will make whatever you want for dinner. Relax. Make yourself at home.”
Wallace pulls away, but I can still smell the vanilla scent of her. Desire courses through me, and I know if I would have gone upstairs with her, I’d break all my carefully constructed rules. I’d comfort her and take care of her, and I’d let all my boundaries slip.
But experience has taught me that getting close to someone always ends in disaster.
So this is better. Space is better. And I decide right now that this is how I’ll make this year of marriage work.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dove storms into my office, the door slamming behind her. I can see my assistant, Mel, standing on the other side of the door, her face turned into a frown. I wave a hand to let her know it's okay.
It's not. But not many people would be able to prevent my sister from entering a room she wants access to.
"Pigeon.” I call her the nickname that me and my brothers have been using since childhood.
My mother wanted whimsical names for all her children, something that matched the Sanctum and Celestia branding. But having sons with names like Forrest and Bodhi didn't fit my father's perfect family image. The compromise was that my father named the boys and my mother could pick our middle names, hence how I got stuck with Evern.
But then they had a girl. Unlike the boys of the family, my father didn't care about a girl’s name. So my mother had one child whose name she got to choose.
